


Game Night

by thedeadguyintheback



Series: Hair-Brained Schemes: Miscellaneous Petlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherlock AU, petlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadguyintheback/pseuds/thedeadguyintheback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored. John entertains him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Night

**Author's Note:**

> i have cats named Sherlock and Moriarty. it had to happen eventually.

"I’m bored, John."

The grey striped cat stretched lazily in a square of sunlight from the dusty window. “Entertain me,” he demanded.

“No new cases, I suppose?”

“Not even boring ones.”

John the terrier sighed, rolling over the pile of faded drapes and onto his paws. “Let’s play a game, then. Like tag.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Dull.”

“Alright, then.” John said decidedly. Standing, he crossed the room to a human skull lying on its side. He grabbed the skull by its jaw, then trotted out of the room.

“John what are you doing? Stop, that’s very fragile! It’s an antique!” Sherlock followed him down the stairs and out the front door, but the terrier had already disappeared into the crowded streets. “John, bring that skull back this instant!”

Sherlock stood searching the busy street for John, when the dog voiced his reply from across the street. “If you want it back, you’ll have to catch me!”

Then the chase was on. Sherlock bolted through a crowd of people, dodging human legs left and right. He stopped on the pavement, sniffed the air a moment, then darted down an alley after that damned dog.

He followed the scent down side streets, past a row of shops, across another busy street. He followed the trail to the banks of the Thames, where it led right up to the water. Sherlock frowned at then shoreline, thought a moment, then ran downriver a few yards. Just as expected, a set of wet pawprints led back away from the water and headed into a local park.

Sherlock crept through neatly trimmed grass, all senses focused on the task at hand. A path of recently trampled grass led to a fat oak tree, and Sherlock circled it.

No John.

Where could he have gone? Sherlock could certainly smell him around this tree, but the trail stopped there. “Where did he go?” Sherlock wondered aloud. “He had to have gone somewhere. It’s not as though dogs can climb trees—”

“Sure they can,” said John from ten feet up. “if they out their mind to it.” He grabbed the skull from a fork in the branches, then ran down the tree trunk, landing rather clumsily in the grass beside Sherlock. “So,” he said with a smile, “here’s your skull back. Did you have fun?”

Sherlock returned the smile with an added note of malice. “You have thirty seconds to run.”


End file.
